Underneath a Smile
by a. e. everdeen
Summary: Underneath Italy's smile is nothing but pain and hurt.
1. Chapter 1

**Warning: You seriously read the rating but still need a warning?**

Dear Journal,

They don't understand how I feel. I look happy; seem happy and cheerful all the time. Like no one or nothing can mess with that. But on the inside, I am hurting. I think of suicide everyday, somehow it comforts me. It gives me a feeling that someday when all of these hurt feelings are too much for me to handle, I can just end it all, simple as that.

I am scared that I might injure someone severely or even kill them. I am able to control most of my anger, keep it bottled up for a long period of time. But eventually, that bottle gets too full, and explodes. I have already injured someone, breaking their finger. They all think it was an accident, but truth is I'm happy I did it, that little brat deserved it. I think I might kill myself, in order to protect people who don't deserve to be hurt or even killed by me in the future.

Sometimes I see visions. Visions people shouldn't normally have, but I have them anyways. I see myself writing a suicide note, I think about what I would say if I ever wrote one. I think of the last words I would write to people, and even imagine where I'd put it. I try to come with an explanation for why I would do such a thing.

I imagine scenarios of how I would kill myself. I envision myself tying some rope to a shelf, and then hanging myself from it. I imagine sitting in the bathtub, cutting my wrists open with razors, letting myself slowly bleed to death. I imagine going to Switzerland's house, taking a gun from there and shooting myself in the head, not caring about whoever sees. I imagine taking a knife from the kitchen, carving out the words die on my arm, watching the blood slowly ooze from my arm, watch as it turns pale and the world becoming more and more distant as I leave it. I even imagine taking a syringe, taking out some blood from my arm, and write my suicide note on the wall with my own blood.

I look at balconies, thinking to myself, hey could that do the trick? One time, I tried suffocating myself. Not to death, but just to understand the feeling of what it is like to suffocate, to be deprived of oxygen. One time while swimming, I stayed underwater for a while, trying to deprive myself of oxygen, trying to separate myself from the world. It was so peaceful under there, the harsh troubles that are the world were separated from me. But sadly because of natural instincts, I returned to the surface. Damn them, damn all of the people who have hurt me all my life, damn the people that underestimate me, just damn them all.

I don't know if they understand how bad they are hurting me, but they seem to enjoy it. They continue it, they seem happy when they do it, so how could they not? The thing I don't understand is how they cannot see the pain through my eyes, they seem oblivious to it. How come no one can see the pain someone is going through until they commit suicide or attempt suicide? Are people experiencing depression really that good at hiding it?

The only thing that is keeping me alive is my love for Germany. If I kill myself, I fear that I will never get to be with him by killing myself. He will never know of how I love him with a burning passion, he is the thing that keeps me going through the tough times. I think of him everyday. We have so many memories together, and I plan on making many more with him. All I want to do is be with him, be in his arms, for forever and ever.

I never knew what love was until I met him, frankly I didn't even want it. That all changed when I met him. He taught me how to toughen up, to face my problems head on instead of cowering in fear from them.

Life is a maze, a maze in which I cannot see the end to. I cannot see the light, only darkness surrounds me. Germany is my only guide, and he cannot even find the exit for me. I need to find it on my own. If not….well I don't need to finish that sentence.

I've been having nightmares. I see Germany being slowly tortured to death. They are stabbing him, and then slowly pulling the knife out. They are the people who have hurt me my whole life. I watch as the life is being slowly sucked out of him, the light fading from his beautiful eyes. I call out his name. "I hate you Italy!" He yells, and then dies.

This is the time at night I usually wake up, screaming and crying, thrashing my arms all over the place. I have to try to get myself together, telling myself that it was a dream. The thing is what if it's reality? What if he really does hate me? Maybe he only talks to me because I am a descendant of the Holy Roman Empire.

Romano doesn't understand, he's too busy to even care about how I'm feeling. I doubt he he has ever cared, he probably just puts on a show for everyone else so they'll love him.

I wish life came with a manual, but I doubt that manual could help me. I'm a lost cause, I'll probably never experience true happiness ever again. Well I have, with Germany, but I don't want depression fighting that happiness anymore. Is it to hard to ask for just a little happiness that actually lasts?

Tears become like companions. You can become use to the tears, but you can never become use to the pain, no matter how long you have endured it. You can numb it, but only for a short period of time. Then it comes back, stronger than ever. It cannot be defeated, and I'm afraid that someday I will lose this battle.

Help me. I try to tell people this, but cannot find the words. I'll probably just be harassed more. I cannot tell Germany, I don't want to hurt him with this news. If he thinks I'm happy, it makes him happy, so it gives me the lift I need to not kill myself. But for how much longer?

I can barely say the words needed to make everyone think I'm alright. I almost burst out in tears whenever I say the words "I'm ok." The thought of being happy seems so far away, Germany is the only reason I think happiness actually exists. Without Germany, happiness is just an illusion created by the human mind to keep them from going insane. I am far from being sane; Germany is the only thing keeping me from going over the edge. I am right on the edge, trying to decide weither to jump into the ocean, landing onto the rocks below, or stay on land and have to face the harsh realities ahead. I need to make that decision quick, or someone else will make it for me.

I feel the need to live become less and less. I don't even want to stay alive for Romano anymore, I'm wondering if someday I won't even want to stay alive for Germany.

If only I wasn't a nation, than this all could be so much easier. Someday, I will do it. I will kill myself, and be dead forever. I will be free from this place. Some say hell is a place you go to when you're dead, but I say that it is a place that you go to where you are alive. Hell is life, and life is hell. I doubt I will be alive for much longer, by the time you read this I will most likely already be dead.

~Italy

**In my version of Hetalia, the nations can die if they commit suicide, but then their whole nation dies along with it. First attempt at a fanfic, I hope y'all like it. Please review!**


	2. Chapter 2

Finally, I  
>have let it all out. Did I just write my suicide letter? I've never seen one<br>before, so I have no idea what such a thing contains. If no one cares, why would  
>one even need to exist? Sigh. Such a confusing world.<p>

I drop my pen,  
>making sure not to damage it. Because of this pen, this magnificent device, it<br>has kept me here. Here. With my beloved Germany. At least, it has, if it will in  
>the future I have not a clue.<p>

Clue. A game. Life is also a game, never  
>ending. Can't I just stop for a minute to breathe?<p>

I think too much.  
>Just another quality to add onto the list of reasons I hate myself. Some would<br>say hate is such a strong word, but I find it much too weak. Weak and fragile,  
>like my mind.<p>

Next I open my drawer. Most people would put a lock on  
>this, for a reason such as not wanting anyone else to read it. I don't. Why<br>would anyone care to read even a single piece of my writing? Gently, I place my  
>journal in there and slam the drawer shut. My hand hurts from doing so, but I<br>don't give a damn. I don't have one to give, except to Germany.

Pain,  
>physical, is just something created to ignite fear. I do not let fear be ignited<br>by this, but calmed. My skin doesn't even get a chance to heal, I reopen wounds  
>too often to count.<p>

Somehow, no one has seen these. Not that anyone  
>cares to look. I guess because unlike most people, cutters anyways, I avoid the<br>wrists. For some reason, I am too afraid to do so. I have decided that only if I  
>decide to end it all, I will cut my wrists. But that doesn't mean I have not<br>considered it before.

All of my thoughts, eventually will be put to rest.  
>One way or another, but when? How? Where? Where doesn't even mean anything to<br>me, as long as everything ends.

By everything, I mean everything. Except  
>my love for Germany, which shall never die. Even though I have lost my mind, my<br>soul, and spirit, I still have a fragment of my heart. This, which shall forever  
>belong to and exists because of him, my beloved Germany.<p>

So immersed in  
>my thoughts, I didn't realize the pain in my hand had ended. Temporarily calming<br>my senses, but I know this will not last very long. Might as well enjoy it while  
>it lasts.<p>

I should've caused myself more pain, but didn't. Some blood  
>would've been nice, even relaxing. Not just a drop or two. I deserve every<br>second of pain I endure, plus more.

I do not cry. I cannot, because I am  
>emotionally dead inside. My days consist of two emotions, dead and sad to the<br>point of tears. I prefer the second one, it makes me feel more normal. It's nice  
>to feel something, an emotion of some kind, no matter what it is. I will do<br>anything to achieve this, even if it includes mentally abusing myself.

I  
>need to stop thinking. I dont deserve to be thinking. I don't deserve to be<br>here. I don't deserve even a breathe of air, I shall be awaiting my last and  
>final one.<p>

I have been sitting and thinking, just doing that, for quite  
>some time now. Time to take action. Time to quench my thirst.<p>

I walk  
>over to my bed. Next to it, a nightstand. My brother gave this to me for my<br>birthday. I don't know how he can even remember mine. The only reason he even  
>acknowledges my existence is because he is my brother, he would look bad not<br>to.

No one sees who he really is, behind closed doors. No one knows. No.  
>One. Except for me, but there are even things that I do not know.<p>

I am  
>brought back into reality. I stare at the drawer. Key, I need a key. The only<br>reason I even bother to lock this is so no one can get ahold of them. These can  
>be valuable to anyone that gets ahold of them.<p>

Shit. I just remembered.  
>Romano has it. He found my hiding place for it, not that I had hidden it very<br>well, and taken ownership of it. He said something about trying to figure out  
>who it belonged to, since I had denied ownership. Him being my brother, he had<br>no choice but to believe what I had said. I doubt he truly did though, or he is  
>more of an idiot than I thought.<p>

Great, what to do now?

I have an  
>idea. I get up, pushing myself up off of the bed. My arms hurt, still sore from<br>the night before. I had really done a number on them, each worse than the night  
>before. Coming closer to death I was, but an accidental or purpose<br>one?

On my feel, I feel a little disoriented. My head hurts, but I do not  
>know why. A little, it hurts at first, but the pain strengthens. More and more,<br>until it is unbearable.

Unbearable, even for me. How is this  
>possible?<p>

I do not understand what is going on or what is happening, but  
>I am not allowed to. My head hurts too much for me to even think of what I truly<br>want to accomplish.

Sleep. Sleep. This is all I can think of. Normally I  
>am afraid of sleep, the nightmares are unbearable. For some reason, sleep is now<br>a welcoming thought. All I want is for it to go away, to fight it. This I do not  
>understand.<p>

I am done. I feel my eyes closing now, becoming heavier and  
>heavier. Finally, I feel like I will be having a nice dream.<p>

The pain, a  
>couple hours should get rid of it right? Cannot take anymore than that. Why am I<br>still awake when I could dream of Germany?

I surrender. Soon my mind is  
>filled with visions, but sadly what I had not been hoping for.<p> 


End file.
